


The Transformation Amongst the Trees

by gabrielandworms



Category: Original Work
Genre: Body Horror, Child Abandonment, Gen, Magical Realism, Major Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27206848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabrielandworms/pseuds/gabrielandworms
Summary: When Rose's health deteriorates, her parents abandon her to the care of her aunt. Death comes for everyone though, including Rose, and as it draws ever closer she finds herself drawn to the woods more and more. The trees, as it turns out, are not what they seem.
Kudos: 2





	The Transformation Amongst the Trees

**Author's Note:**

> I debated as to whether I wanted to crosspost any of my stories onto AO3. On one hand, I like having them collected all nice and pretty onto my personal site. On the other hand, I really love AO3's tagging system. There's also the fact that I, uh, write a good bit of body horror. And AO3 seems to be chill with a lot of things, so much so that body horror would just be a blip on their radar.
> 
> I do wonder how well original fiction fares on here. Oh well. If it's just me screaming into a void then that's also fine.
> 
> As a final bit of info, I also have a painting that I put together to accompany this story, but you'll have to go to my site to see it. Sorry.

Truth be told, Rose’s parents viewed their only child with resentment even when she was in the best of health, so when she displayed the signs of consumption they were only too thrilled to leave her in the care of her estranged aunt. Sick children hardly made pleasant conversation for socialite parents and their socialite companions.

The change in location hardly bothered Rose. She shared an innate rural blood with her aunt and her deceased grandparents, and her childhood home left her feeling more akin to a feral animal trapped in a fancy cage rather than the daughter of a wealthy businessman. She found that the water-stained walls of her aunt’s farmhouse and the mismatched dishes in the kitchen cupboards were a more appealing backdrop for her life than the grandiose wallpaper and bone china of her previous days. She was also deeply in love with the forest at the outskirts of the farm.

The consumption was a destructive illness, however, and Rose’s health rarely permitted her any excursions to the woods. Sometimes, if her aunt had time to spare between the endless chore of maintaining her farm, she would help Rose into her grandmother’s old wooden wheelchair, and they would wander down the farm’s dirt path to the forest. Though Rose was hardly a gifted artist, she did enjoy drawing the gnarled branches of the trees, the moss and plants that covered the dark earth, the skittish wildlife. Pictures of the forest in pencil and ink covered the walls of her bedroom and transformed the small room into her own personal sanctuary. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes, she would slip into dreams of the forest calling to her in soothing, distant voices like the howls of a breeze. Hands like tree branches would reach out to her, and she would feel the faint, ghostly remnants of the hands even as she woke.

Her health continued to deteriorate as spring gave way to summer, and even more so as the overbearing heat of the summer transformed into the brisk chill of autumn. Her aunt no longer permitted her any excursions to the woods, and she felt a pang of sadness as she gazed out her window at the smudge of wilderness in the distance. When Rose first understood that her illness would eventually lead to her death, she had only felt a sort of apathy. Private schools, distant parents, and peers that found her too feral and strange hardly inspired a fondness for life, so the concept of her mortality hardly frightened her.

The forest held a reassuring beauty, and she realized that never being able to sit amongst the trees in that rickety wheelchair, her bulky sketchbook in her bony arms, inspired despair. Unlike her previous life with her parents, Rose hardly felt odd and unwanted amongst the trees. Finally having such a sanctuary where she felt comfortable exactly as she was managed to inspire feelings of passion with her, but passion for the wild could not cure Rose. As a result, her despair transformed into resentment. Perhaps that resentment was what motivated her to slip out of her aunt’s house on that particularly bitter night, bundled in sweaters and the elegant pea coat from her previous life as the daughter of wealthy socialites.

Rose was hardly used to walking such distances, and she had to take multiple breaks during her trek to the forest. She coughed a deep cough, and splotches of tell-tale red stained her white handkerchief. Her hand shook from both cold and weariness as she shoved the handkerchief back into her pocket, and she willed herself to continued walking towards the forest. When she finally reached the familiar tangle of trees she immediately collapsed against one of the large oaks, the bark rough beneath her cold fingers.

_Little human,_ the wind whispered through the branches of the trees in a voice that sounded more human than it should. If Rose had not been so exhausted, her chest so wracked with pain, she would have been frightened by this strange voice. As it currently was, however, Rose found herself too weary to even be afraid.

_Little human,_ the rasp of a voice called again. _You have been gone for so long… we have missed you._

“Sorry,” was all that Rose could whisper, her voice a soft croak.

_Little human,_ the voice called again. _We sense your life is growing faint._ Hands that felt like tree branches tangled in her unkempt hair. _We have forgotten how brief human lives can be. We… are sorry._

The way the wind ghosted over her forehead felt like cold lips. _Little human, we would miss your absence._ Her back itched and ached for a moment, but the ache quickly transformed into a sharp pain. If she had to describe the pain, she would have described it as feeling as though her own flesh was trying to yank away from her bones and crawl out of her skin. Rose’s teeth clenched together tightly, and consequently her shriek of agony was muffled. Of course, the wind would have drowned her out even if she was capable of screaming loudly. As she dug her nails into the bark of the oak tree she heard the wind whisper to her one last time.

_Little human, we have no intention of letting you leave us again._

A loud roar then resonated in her ears, and the scream that Rose was holding back finally sprung forth as the fabric of her sweaters and pea coat ripped, giving way to the gnarled branches that emerged from her frail body. The branches reached farther and farther into the night sky as her body twisted and contorted into a solid trunk of wood, her skin as rough as the bark beneath her fingers. The wildlife that resided in the forest screamed out in what Rose thought sounded perhaps a bit too much like approval, and they only grew quiet as the pain within her body finally subsided.

The tree that was once Rose basked in the autumn chill, and there she would remain, surrounded by her beloved wilderness.


End file.
